The world is falling down
by silvershadewolf
Summary: Day of Doom Week is here...tomorrow! Thursday: Golden. Depending on when you're reading this. Read and enjoy! It's never too late to enter. Please, review :)
1. Can anyone say Inception?

**Day of Doom Week is here!**

**Just a refresher: **

**DAY ONE: any Vesper-related drabble or oneshot.  
DAY TWO: any Vesper-related drabble or oneshot. Must be set sometime in the past (i.e., no CvV or Clue Hunt).  
DAY THREE: any Vesper-related drabble or oneshot. Must break the Fourth Wall* or include it somehow.  
DAY FOUR: a drabble of any kind.  
DAY FIVE: any Vesper-related drabble or oneshot.  
DAY SIX: any Guardian-related drabble or oneshot.  
DAY SEVEN: any kind of drabble or oneshot.**

**You DO NOT have to enter all seven to win. You can enter only one (and you can still win.)**

**You CAN NOT use what you've already written before.**

**That being said, here's the prequel...thingy.**

* * *

"Dan!" Amy called, stumbling down the stairs with a cup of tea in her hand.

"...Dan?"

He was being unusually quiet. Maybe he wasn't awake yet.

She found him at the kitchen table, eyes glued to his laptop screen.

"Hey. Daniel Cahill." Amy smacked his arm. "_Helloooooo, _come back to Earth, alien. What's so interesting?"

"Very funny, Amy," he mumbled, then dragged his head up, as if the laptop were commanding him to continue staring at whatever it was that was so captivating. "So, um." Dan cleared his throat and licked his dry lips. "You know how we defeated the Vespers..."

He tensed, awaiting The Big Explosion. Even mentioning the _V-word_ near Amy was enough to make her go ballistic. Anything to do with the Cahills, actually. She was still normal- a little _too_ normal, in fact. She completely disregarded the last few years of their crazy lives, pretending that it never happened.

Dan still remembered their shouting match.

_"And Grace! What did Grace die for, huh? You're just going to pretend it never existed now?"_

_"Grace died of _cancer!" _Amy shot back. "It was a sickness! I don't know what you're talking about!"_

_He tried the next best thing. "What about Mom and Dad? You think our house just _accidentally _caught on fire? Someone was smoking, tripped and _oops- _whoosh, our house went up in flames!" It twisted his stomach to talk about their parents this way. "No, Amy! It was _Isabel Kabra! _Just because she's dead doesn't mean she never lived!"_

_Amy only stared at him, eyes furious and wet. _

_"This conversation is over," she said, pushing past him._

_They never brought it up again._

Now Amy only narrowed her eyes and said nothing. Should he be way? Probably.

"So, I found this thing on Amazon. It's called _Day of Doom_..."

"Let me see that," Amy snapped, snatching the laptop from him.

"Whoa, there, Grabby Hands," Dan mocked, putting his hands up in front of him. "There's _please _and _thank you_, you know. The magic words, remember? You taught them to me once."

Amy only frowned. "They wrote...a _book_ on this? And passed it off as fiction?"

"If I remember correctly," Dan muttered, "you were doing the same thing. Minus the book."

His sister went to the next link. "There's a whole _week_ on this? That horrible day...and they're treating it like a celebration?!"

"Whoa, Amy," he said. "Don't get your panties in a twist. Underwear. Whatever."

She ignored him and clicked on the first link instead. It was titled _The world is falling down, by silvershadewolf._


	2. the world is falling down

**DAY ONE.**

**Any Vesper-related oneshot or drabble.**

* * *

**Title: **the world is falling down  
**Word count: **954  
**Oneshot  
****Summary: **the Vespers where everywhere. There was no escaping them. They could dominate the world- and quite easily, too.  
**Author: **silvershadewolf

* * *

_Mount Pukhansan, South Korea. Day of Doom._

Boom. Boom.

A boulder rumbled down the mountainside, zigzagging unpredictably. A lone hiker was sprinting down the path as fast as he could without falling off the side of the cliff.

One glance up. He was met with a faceful of grey.

Hard, unrelenting rock.

A desperate choke escaped his throat. He tried to scramble out of the way, roll down the hill faster—he even started preparing to jump over the large stone.

It seemed to be raining pebbles, but he didn't notice.

Pebbles turned into large, fist-sized rocks.

Which turned into rocks as big as his head.

One hit his forehead. _Thunk. _Man down.

The boulder continued its journey down Pukhansan.

[ x || x ]

A bush, twisted and mangled, looking rather like a man's face, was the only sign of life left on the mountainside. No matter how much the mountain rumbled and shook, no matter how much boulders crashed into it…

It would take a collapsing mountain to destroy the remains of Hideyoshi's stronghold.

With a huge groan, the entire left side of Pukhansan caved in. What Amy and Dan and Alistair hadn't destroyed before crumbled into dust.

The panicked hikers had no warning before they fell into the pit of their impending doom.

In a helicopter far overhead, Sandy Bancroft watched calmly. He picked up his cellphone and touched a number.

"Progress," said Vesper Four. "We're making progress."

_Coober Pedy, Australia. Day of Doom._

It was a busy, bustling day at the mines.

Tourists were all over the place, crowding each other, snapping pictures despite the harsh sun beating down on their necks.

_Good._

They might as well get rid of more tourists while they were at it.

Tourists were annoying people—exceedingly cheerful, but extremely rude when they were sightseeing. They'd do anything to get pictures. And they'd ask random people for directions.

A man in a long coat—black, despite the heat—and a baseball cap shadowing his face, walked past. He flashed Ted a subtle thumbs-up. Ted nodded in return and furrowed his brow, the signal they had agreed on.

This was all going perfectly.

Vesper One loved perfection.

[ x || x ]

He wasn't sure exactly _which_ mine Dan and Amy had visited before, but it didn't matter. They had enough for all of them.

Miel leaned forward, pretending to take a picture with his "camera".

_Let's take a picture of you, Mister Security Guard._

He aimed his camera toward the first guard. His finger brushed the button.

_Click._

Ted was waiting behind him, dressed as another guard. He caught him as he fell, righting the security guard, trying to make him look conscious. A few minutes later, the body disappeared and Ted was back.

No one noticed anything.

Ted nodded as he climbed into the mines. A flash of the hand—three fingers, three minutes.

Exactly two minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, Miel's cellphone buzzed. He read the text quickly, smiled, and pressed another button on his camera.

Except for the little plot of land where he was standing, the rest of the mines entirely collapsed, taking the rowdy tourists with them. Some of them weren't deep, but deep enough so that no one could climb over the sides.

Miel's watched beeped.

_Three minutes._

Another button. _Click._

The mines exploded.

"Well," said Ted, climbing out of a steel shaft, "that's all done."

_Tomas Stronghold, South Africa. Day of Doom._

"TOMAS!"

The loud, brutal yell is rivalled only by the roaring hurricane wind outside. The Tomas are known for their exceptional strength, but the stronghold was not built with hurricanes in mind. It will possibly collapse in seconds, minutes.

The forest outside of the stronghold is being ripped apart. Torn into pieces.

A tree smacks into a window, and it shatters. The building shakes.

"STAND, TOMAS!"

No one is listening. They are trying to retreat into the underground bunker.

There is chaos in the stronghold.

"_TOMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS—"_

He is cut short by a hole opening in the ceiling above him. A large chunk of ceiling falls and hits him on the head.

He pitches forward, dead.

Screaming.

The door to the bunker is forced open, and the Tomas stream down the stairs, pushing past each other to get to safety.

It takes a minute. They're all there.

Silence.

The Tomas catch their breath.

And then—_white. Red. Black. _

The entire stronghold, bunker included, is bombed.

Explodes.

No survivors.

_Venice, Italy. Day of Doom._

It starts with the earthquake.

Venice is full of canals. Now, they are flooding the entire city.

"Don't worry," a Janus says, her voice, tinged with worry, betraying her. "It won't get us underground."

"We'll be safe."

An hour passes.

They sit in silence.

Waiting.

[ x || x ]

The Janus stronghold is being flooded, and the art is being destroyed.

The ground rumbles and shakes. Part of the stronghold has already collapsed. The remaining survivors are trapped, unable to go deeper in, unable to go into the canals, unable to climb to the surface.

They are trying to save the art.

There is nowhere to move it to.

The floor and ceiling and walls are splitting apart, separating, at unpredictable times.

The Janus are ankle-deep in water.

Knee-deep.

Up to their waste.

Their torso, now. The shorter ones are unconscious.

They climb onto tables, trying to get higher. And higher.

The Janus thought their stronghold was one-of-a-kind, keeping out or trapping intruders.

They are trapped in their own creation.

"It's done, sir," says Nathan into his phone, from his place in the helicopter. "The Janus are dead."

"Excellent," says Vesper One.

And, far away, he smiles.


	3. Books

**DAY TWO.  
****Title: **Books**  
Summary: **It started with a penny. It ended with books- but not the end. Not the real end.  
**Characters: **Damien Vesper and Gideon Cahill  
**Word count: **1, 395

* * *

"Hey, hey! Damien!"

The shout rang out into the cool, Irish morning air. Damien whipped around. Brian and Francis were ambling down the hillside. Damien raised a hand in greeting, then turned his back on them. Perhaps they would get the message and leave, he thought hopefully.

No such luck.

"What do you want?" he said gruffly as they neared.

Brian mock-pouted and grinned. "What makes you think we want something?"

Damien tilted his head. "You always want something. Stop making pointless dialogue."

Francis crossed his arms. "You owe us a penny."

"I owe you nothing," Damien flared. His insides twisted. _Go away, leave me alone, go away, leave me alone. Please please please. _

"Yes you do," Brian retorted. "Remember? You said I couldn't top that oak tree by the fence."

Inwardly he groaned. _I had hoped he wouldn't remember that…_ "And did you?" he said, just to stall for time.

"He did," Francis cut in. "Now hand it over."

Damien refused to make eye-contact and kept his face blank. "Haven't got a penny."

"I told you so," Brian muttered to Francis. "Waste of time. C'mon, let's do him in and be done with." Almost casually, he raised his fist and caught Damien in the face. He cried out and rolled backward, scrambling to his feet. Immediately, Francis punched him in the eye.

The two took turns, raining blows down on him. Damien tried to knee his attackers in the gut, but someone caught his knee and flipped him upside down. Francis reached into his pockets.

"The devil's being truthful for once," he said disgustedly. "Ain't got a penny."

Damien wiggled free of Brian's grasp and hit the ground hard. He lay there for a second, winded, then shot to his feet and sprinted down the hill. It was hopeless, he knew, for they were both faster than he. But he had a head start. Maybe, just this once…

An idea formed in his mind as he neared the apple orchards. Damien scrambled over the fence and started racing down the dirt path, counting rows as he passed. _Five, six…ten, eleven…sixteen. _He turned into the seventeenth row and risked a glance around the corner. Brian and Francis were taking it slow, peering down each row. They were still a while back.

Damien started running until he was near the edge of the orchard. By now, he was nearly out of energy. He gasped for breath, face flushed, hands on his knees. _In, out, in, out. Breathe, c'mon._

"Good day, sir."

He whirled around, startled. Brian and Francis were leaning against a fence post, looking very nonchalant and not the slightest bit out-of-breath. Damien leapt up, catching the overhead branch of an apple tree, and scaled it like a monkey. Within seconds he was halfway up out of arm's reach.

"Come on, Dammy Boy," Francis grinned, with full knowledge that Damien hated nicknames. "Be a good sport, will you not? Climb down the tree."

"And let you beat me up?"

Brian shrugged lazily. "You owe us…"

"Like I said, I don't owe you anything. _Cow."_

Francis heaved an almighty sigh. "Alright, alright. How about this? If you do us a little favour, we won't do you in."

"You tell me this now—_after _you light into me."

"We aren't done with you yet, boy."

Damien considered. "What's the favour?"

"Does that mean you agree?"

"It means I agree to hear it first, and think on it afterward."

Brian sneered. "Steal a book from Lord Cahill's study."

Damien was wide-eyed. Besides Bibles, books were a rarity, and to have a room full of them was even rarer. Even his father, Lord Vesper, did not have as much books as Matthias Cahill did. His son G—G something. Gabriel, Gordon? He was an oddity, jeered at by the boys in the neighbourhood, and was a loner. More often than not, he was seen with a book in his hand, or was reciting something. Damien made fun of him also, but for different reasons. He was jealous of the education he got.

He swallowed hard. "Lord Cahill's _study?" _he repeated. "Are you crazy? He is extremely rich. He probably has guards…and massive dogs sitting sentry. Why do you need a book, anyway? Chances are it will have words over three letters. And that's _so _challenging for you."

Francis narrowed his eyes, but Brian elbowed him. "It's none of your business, Dammy. Are you in or too cowardly?"

That got him. "I am in," he snapped. "Lead the way."

* * *

Lord Cahill's mansion was absolutely gigantic. Damien could see it from the boat. Resentment rose up in his chest—they had an _entire island _to themselves. Lord Vesper only owned a manor. One day, he promised himself, he'd get an island for himself, too.

Brian craned his neck. "The study's the second floor window."

"_Which _window?"

"Figure it out. Are you not a daredevil, Damien Vesper?" With twin smirks, the two melted into the shadows. Someone shoved his shoulder blades and he stumbled onto the lawn.

_Baby steps. _He was actually _on_ Cahill property. He couldn't wait to tell the girls all about this.

Damien remembered Francis and Brian and his glee faded. Right, to business. He scanned the windows thoughtfully. It was noontime and Lord Cahill would probably be in his study, if he was anything like Hugo Vesper. And if the family hadn't eaten luncheon yet, they would soon. He was counting on that.

Time ticked past. _Come on come on come on. _Damien was starting to doubt himself when a young girl came flying out the door. "Papa!" she screeched, pigtails swinging. "Papa, the hens are ready!"

A moment later, Lord Cahill stepped out the door. "Janise," he called. "Wait for me, Janise!"

The two disappeared to the back of the mansion, where the farm was, no doubt. _Now_. Damien raced toward the front door, took a deep breath and before he could lose his resolve, entered the Cahill house.

He wasted no time. Damien raced silently up the stairs to the second floor, methodically checking the keyholes. The last door opened to the largest room, as he could measure with his eyes. The keyhole was blocked with paper. This must be it. Damien shoved his shoulder against it, fully expecting it to be locked.

The door swung open.

Books. They were everywhere. Almost reverently, Damien ran his hands up the leathery spines, taking in the words engraved on them.

And then he resisted the sudden, sharp urge to smash them against the wall. It just wasn't _fair._ They lived in a treasure-house, these Cahill rich kids. And all these books. All this _information_. Damien carefully lifted out a thick book, bound with red leather. _**The Properties of the Stars**_, it read. Astronomy. _**A Study of Mountains**_. Geography. He loved geography—one day, Damien wanted to discover a new world. _And own it._

And there would be all the books in the world there. _Everyone_ would have access—

"What are you doing in Father's study?"

The words were curiously spoken, and you could say there was a touch of politeness—and respect. The boy didn't sound reproachful, or angry, or even surprised that there was an intruder in his house. He just sounded inquisitive.

"Oh—you see, well—"

The boy raised an eyebrow. _G, G something_, Damien thought. He honestly couldn't remember.

"It…was a dare," he said lamely. To say _favour _would raise more questions. "To steal a book. From Lord Cahill's study."

He scanned the books on the ground. "You like geography?"

"Yes. Do you?"

"No," he replied honestly. "_**A Study of Mountains**_—I found that one quite boring, really. I like Aristotle better, or Archimedes."

"Philosophy," Damien wrinkled his nose. "And mathematics. Ugh."

"Don't like them?"

"I find them quite boring, really."

The boy cracked a smile. "The name's Gideon," he said, not holding his hand out to shake, like most did upon introducing themselves. "You can keep those books, if you like. Father will understand, I think."

"I'm Damien. And thank you—I'll enjoy them."

He politely inclined his head and left via the window, contemplating which book to keep and which book to give to Brian and Francis.

What did it matter, really? A book was a book.

_Gideon._ He'd remember that name. And maybe pay Lord Cahill's study another visit—another time.


	4. Dust

**Here's Day Three. It breaks the Fourth Wall :D I think you'll rather like it.**

**Title: **Dust**  
Summary: **_"You could have at least kept my body," _the woman snarled. Inches away from his face.**  
Word count: **445**  
Characters: **Isabel Kabra**  
Genres: **Humour, Parody

* * *

David Baldacci sat at his desk, working on a book on Scrivener. He sipped his coffee and stared at the screen, thinking about his previous projects. _Day of Doom _was alright—it had been fun to write, but admittedly he could work on writing for young children.

He sipped some more coffee, then froze, the hair on the back of his neck raising. Something was wrong…

He turned around. A woman was standing behind him, face expressionless. She looked to be around thirty, with wavy dark hair and cherry-red lips. Something about her looked familiar, but David couldn't _quite_ place it.

"Hello," she said, and her voice sounded so melodic and beautiful.

"Hello," he stammered back, tongue-tied. There was a pretty woman standing in his room. He should have been scared but he wasn't. There was a brief moment of silence.

_I should probably ask how she got through locked windows, locked doors, locked front doors, and the alarm system installed in my house, _David realized.

"What are you doing here?" Tense voice. Fists clenched. Fierce glare. But at the withering stare the woman gave him, contrasted by her angelic, innocent smile, he felt stupid and childish.

"Don't you know me?" she asked, and he felt extremely dumb for not knowing. He _should_, he thought, she must be extremely famous or something. A distant relative of his, perhaps? Or—he felt horror steadily growing inside him—one of his previous girlfriends?

"You _do_ know me, m'dear," she said, as if she could read his thoughts. "You killed me, remember? Well, you _tried _to."

_Tried to?_

He was _not_ a murderer. "No—you don't understand," said David, swallowing a great lump in his throat. "I—I'm not a murderer—"

"Oh, but you _are_," said the woman. "How many people have you killed—really? If I remember correctly, there was that drug dealer and his brother—at the prison in Divine. There was Milton Farb, rest his soul. Don't forget Monk Turing, either, there was a good scientist."

David's blood ran cold. He knew those names. He knew those people. He had _created_ those people. They were characters in his books.

The woman rattled off more names, more characters he had killed. "And then me. Oh, what an inventive death. Disintegrated to dust! And Amy Cahill's visit to Heaven—how _sweet_ and _touching_."

A knife lodged itself in the wall behind him. A centimeter away from his head.

"_You could have at least kept my body," _the woman snarled. Inches away from his face.

His tongue felt like lead. "Y-you're Isabel Kabra," he managed.

"I _am_ Isabel Kabra. And you, m'dear, are dead."

Dust.

No body.

* * *

**Note to David Baldacci, who will never read this, but I feel guilty anyway: I'm sorry. I don't actually want to inflict any physical harm on you. Or anything. I like your writing a lot.**

**Milton Farb and Monk Turing are people David Baldacci killed in some of his books.**


	5. Golden

**Title: **Golden  
**Summary: **And in the end, she was the winner.  
**Characters: **Sinead Starling  
**Word count: **exactly 100

* * *

She strived to be perfect. She strived to be golden.

_Win_ the Clue Hunt, _bash_ your rivals, _drink_ the serum, _protect_ your brothers.

She failed all of those, and hated the look of disapproval, those people muttering, "Shame, the Ekat prodigy…could have been branch leader. Traitor, traitor…"

She knew she was only safe because of Alistair Oh.

_Oh, no. I'm not going to let you die. _

The words were pounded into her brain. _Win, win, win. _And how? Who was winning? Logic dictated…the Vespers.

_Win_ the war, _kill _your rivals, _rule _the world, _protect_ your brothers.

She was the winner.

* * *

**Hope you like it. Please review! (Only one review...shame...)**


	6. Bedtime Stories

**Title: **Bedtime Stories

**Word count: **442  
**Characters: Atticus Rosenbloom and Astrid Rosenbloom**

* * *

"Mom." Four-year-old Atticus curled up beside his mother. "Mom," his voice trembled. "Mom, I'm scared. I had a—a nightmare."

"It's okay, honey," Astrid soothed. "Here, I'll tell you a story." Pause.

**Once upon a time, there lived a magician named V. He was the best magician in the whole world. But not like the magicians you see today, doing card tricks on a stage. Oh no, he could do real magic.**

**There was also a magician named C, and he was even better than V. They lived on opposite sides of the world, and had never heard of each other. **

**One day, a man came up to V just as he had performed the best show of his life, and said, 'You think you are the best magician in the world, because you are the only one! Well, there is another magician called C, and he is even better than you are.' You can bet V was mad, **Astrid said, mimicking an angry face and making her son giggle.

**So V and C arranged a meeting together. And they had a battle of magic. They astounded their audience!**

She hesitated, afraid he might not know what _astounded_ meant. But Atticus made no sound, only encouraged her with his eyes.

**Things, however, soon went out of hand. A man came to C and V. He was the same man who had told them about each other, saying words to spite them. 'I bet no one amongst you can create a dragon,' he said. 'It is an impossible feat. No one has done it.' Of course, the two started immediately, with great vigour.**

**The man had underestimated them. Creating a dragon was **_**easy**_**. But they wanted their dragon to be the best dragon. Most fearsome, or biggest, or most colourful, or with the hottest breath—all of those qualities and more. One day, V and C decided to compare their dragons in a large field. **

**It was a trap! As soon as they were ready, V's dragon destroyed C's dragon—and knocked C out, too. V had the only dragon in the world—and named it **_**Vesper**_**.**

Astrid gave an involuntary shudder.

**The dragon was something to be feared. Everyone ran away from it. V, seeing how he could use it for his gain, started to conquer lands with Vesper by his side. But that was not the end. C woke up and started a group of people, a resistance force called the Madrigals. They protected the Ring, the only thing that could defeat V and his dragon. If V got hold of that Ring, there would be no end to his power.**

* * *

**DAY SIX.**

**DAY FIVE will be posted last. It's sooo long.**


	7. Identify Yourself

**Title: **Identify Yourself  
**Word count: **326  
**Characters: **Cora and Broderick Wizard

* * *

_What. Is. Your. Name?_

The words were low and smooth and slow, a strange monotone. He tried not to think about anything, nothing that would set his monitor off. Blank. Blank. Keep your mind blank.

_I will ask you one more time._

Even creepier, he didn't know where the words were coming from. They belonged to no one, as far as he could see. How were they being transmitted? A hidden speaker? Who was behind it, a human—_who?—_a robot?

_One. More. Time._

This time, he swore there was a harsher sound to it, like metal bars grating against each other. He shuddered, the image fresh in his head.

_Identify yourself._

Shuddered again. Mind blank. Blank. Blank. He could almost picture the creature on the other side, that inhuman creature…blank, blank, BLANK. Don't think about anything. His heart monitor shuddered.

_Are. You. A. Cahill. Or. A. Vesper?_

"Nothing," Broderick croaked. "I'll tell you nothing."

* * *

_What. Is. Your. Name?_

The flat, dull monotone pierced the hazy thickness of her mind. She forced her eyes open, struggling—no, no, impossible. She NEVER struggled. She was Cora Wizard, and she—

_What. Is. Your. Branch?_

The strongest branch in the Cahill family, and she was the leader. They were better than the silly Lucians, the stupid Ekats, and the weak Tomas. They were the best of the best, the mightiest of the mightiest. They stopped at nothing to get what they wanted. They were the Janus—

_Are. You. Loyal. To. Them?_

She forced herself not to answer this time. She wasn't so easily tricked, now that she knew how the drug and interrogation forced her to reveal answers. But it pounded in her brain. Was she loyal? Was she not?

_Identify yourself._

She knew the password. She could say it. Just force her mouth open, get that command to her brain. And say it.

But she didn't.

_Are. You. A. Vesper?_

"Nothing," Cora screamed. "I'll tell you nothing!"


	8. And the winner is

Linda Sue Park was bored. _Bored._ As if that wasn't enough already lately. She picked up the copy of _Day of Doom_ sitting on her desk, then hesitantly put it down again.

Hmm.

The reviews weren't quite so good. She wasn't sure how _Trust No One_—her little mischievous masterpiece—had set the events of the grand finale in order. Would they also blame _her_ book, the best in the Cahills vs. Vespers series (as she was concerned)?

Dare she read it?

With a groan, Park turned back to her laptop. She _had_ to focus on her current book. But it was always bad when she had to force herself to write. The result…was bad writing.

And she _hated_ bad writing.

The phone chose that moment to rang. Park glared at hit and went back to nibbling her pen. But after a few seconds, the caller did not hang up. Ugh, annoying. She picked up and didn't wait even a millisecond.

"No," she growled, in the act of slamming it down lightning-fast.

A smooth British accent drawled from the other end, "Why, what's with the grumpy mood today? Book not coming out as planned?"

"…Who are you?" She froze.

The accent faded away to a deep American baritone. "No one of your concern. We need a favour."

"A favour," Park said cautiously.

The caller melted into a lazy gangster sneer. "Got that right. Now, as you know, your homey Baldacheese published the Big Boom, and not everyone's down-to-earth about it. Following?"

"Um. Yes?"

A younger American voice took over. "So, the fans need you to do the awards. Simple! You know where to go." Back to Brit. "Don't disappoint us, Park."

She stared at the phone. _Click._ And just when she thought 39 Clues was well out of her life, too.

: :

"Great, so, what do you need me to do?"

"Ohh, simple," Kabra drawled. "Just go on the stage and read out the awards!"

Park raised an eyebrow. "Stage?"

"Stage," Ted put in. "Y'know. Raised platform where the speakers or performers stand—"

"I _know_," she snapped. It was humiliating to be corrected by a book character. The Cahills lead her through a hallway into a large auditorium. She looked around with mild curiosity. "All the 'fans' are gathered here?"

"Yeah, just sit here," Holt replied, pointing to a chair near the front. "Then someone will call you up…and you just read the, um, thingamabobber."

"So-it's-all-under-control-and-you-don't-need-us-anymore-bye," Dan breathed quickly. They were out the door and gone, leaving Park in a place with a little too much air conditioning. Man it was cold.

A few minutes (hours?) later, Park was jolted from her half-sleep to find someone on the stage. There were people seated all around her. She recognized Jonah and Hamilton somewhere in the back, the latter seeing her and giving her a little wave. She glared back.

"And now," the girl said, "I present to you the winners…from Linda Sue Park!" Applause all around. She took her cue and rose to the microphone.

"…Hey," she said lamely. "Well, um, I don't know why I was chosen. Probably because I had the best book of the second series. We can all agree on that," she laughed nervously. "So, anyway." Crinkling as she unfolded the note.

"The winner for Day One is Holly Chase, for _Remember._ Congrats, Holly! That was a very good oneshot, extremely creative and original. I loved every second of it," she rattled off.

"The winner for Day Two is…herself?" Park raised an eyebrow. "Erm, silvershadewolf. Okay, you can't pick yourself as the winner. That's the biggest ego boost…"

The author hopped onto the stage and snatched the microphone. "Yes, I can, because I don't want everyone winning…everything. And Holly and I were the only ones who did Day Two," she shrugged. "Don't worry. My ego's inflated enough as it is."

Park snorted. "For her oneshot _Books_," she continued. "The winner for Day Three is addicted2reading9, for her oneshot _The Vespers Are Defeated by Who? _Very hilarious! I split my sides laughing—beware the fangirls, authors, just a future warning.

"The winner for Day Four is Holly Chase, for _The Purple Sky_. What a suspenseful drabble. Exactly one hundred words, what a feat! Congratulations again.

"The winner for Day Five is Orange Poppy, for _Thoughts_. Possibly the best oneshot created around an original character! Congratulations, Lee!

"The winner for Day Six is Holly Chase, for _Guarded_. It was so touching and beautiful! Mine (the only other entry) missed by a long shot.

"The winner for Day Seven is _Ashes,_ by Orange Poppy once again! It was so suspenseful and well-written, with dramatic pauses at the right points and carefully-crafted sentences. Every inch was good.

"And now, the winner for Day of Doom Week…is…is…"

Linda Sue Park trailed off. The audience waited expectantly.

"There's no more after that," she said. "The paper ends there! I don't know who the…" she stopped as she realized that the audience was sniggering softly at her. Park crossed her arms and scowled.

The host leapt onto the stage, simultaneously shoving Park off (ouch.) back into her seat. "Well folks, thanks for attending!" she shouted. "The door's on your left. And as for the winner…

"Well, the winner for Day of Doom Week is…"

* * *

**is...**

* * *

**DAY FIVE (because I still haven't published it yet) I'll probably turn it into a separate oneshot. And dedicate it to everyone! :D :D :D**

**Thank you ALL for participating. A shout out to Powers, who entered on Day Three (kay, learn my gender :P I am a g-i-r-l for future records XD XD XD). Congrats EVERYONE.**

**Challenge for everyone: go to everyone's entries (Holly Chase, addicted2reading9, Orange Poppy, me of course and Power -s- Overwhelming) and review every single entry. I'm doing it too (if it makes you feel better :P) I think they need the reviews aka motivation. Plus, they participated, which is an awesome birthday gift especially since it's not my birthday.**

**(That does make perfect sense.)**

**Kay, have a nice day (night? :P)! And I'll be evil some more! The winner for Day of Doom Week is...**

* * *

**is...**

* * *

**is...**

* * *

**is...**

* * *

_**golden days and golden leaves  
**_[ make me wonder why ]_**  
**_**but then I read your lips and smile**_**  
**__and see the reason for it all_


End file.
